


A Puppy in the rain

by that_one_Author



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cute, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Dogs, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Sherlock Being Sherlock, puppy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 09:29:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16658561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_one_Author/pseuds/that_one_Author
Summary: Even the great Sherlock Homes can't leave a little puppy out in the London weather, so he brings it home.Of course just so it could be useful in future cases.John is moderately delighted.





	A Puppy in the rain

Is there anyone who enjoys the English weather? It's always raining and the one day it isn't raining, there's only fog when you try to look out your window.

John Watson sighed and continued to drink his morning tea. It was a rainy day. Most of the time it was his best friend Sherlock Holmes who complained about his boring life or lack of dead people, but after several weeks even the doctor was waiting for _something_ to happen. Just a little murder. Or a kidnapping. Maybe Mycroft needed their help. Just as Watson was finishing his thoughts, a loud and almost window-shattering explosion was heard from the kitchen.

“Oh bloody hell-”, Watson didn't even get to finish, for the morning tea he had enjoyed a moment earlier was now splattered all over the front of his clothes. Which made him look like a kind of busy college student, who doesn't has any time to wash tea stained pullovers “Sherlock! What are you doing?”, Watson was busy with saving their carpet from Earl Grey Tea before he continued to shout for his flatmate. “Didn't I say no bloody experiments before nine o'clock?”

John Watson was, contrary to what his best friend thinks, not a stupid man. He realised quite early in their friendship that there was no use to prohibit the great Sherlock Holmes just about anything. He nevertheless had hope in some basic rules. Like no human heads in the fridge, or holes in the wall. He just couldn't understand anymore how other people complained about empty juice bottles in the fridge or untidy desks.

“This is most interesting. I truly did not anticipate such a forceful reaction, even with this amount of perchloric acid it shouldn't have been this loud. Interesting.” The reason for the not-so-quiet-morning in 221B Baker Street was standing in front of a half-empty kitchen table, his hair even more unruly than usual. The other half of his equipment was now lying on the floor, mostly broken from the explosive impact. “John quick, hand me my-”

“No!”, John was already fuming and it was, still, not even nine in the morning. “How can you not even be able to survive one damn day without destroying something in our flat? Even one day where you don't break stuff?”, even though John was slightly bored with the normality of his week, it didn't mean that he wanted to fear safety in his own home. Almost his own home. It was kinda theirs.

“John, even you probably noticed that we didn't have a case for ten days, forty-three minutes and fifty-five seconds. What exactly do you expect me to do? My brain needs stimuli, it's not as plain as yours after all.” Deep breath in, deep breath out. John heard that this should help against spontaneous impulses of violence. The person who told him that was a God damned liar. “Sherlock I swear if you do not stop with-” “Geoff is coming.”, and again John Watson was confused by his flatmate. “Who?”, he blinked in Sherlock's direction and then to the door. No one was coming up the stairs. “Geoff, George, Gerald, whatever. Maybe he finally has a case for us that isn't simply a one or two.”, somehow Sherlock looked more and more excited every second and then there were fast steps on their stairs.

“John, Sherlock I hope you aren't busy today, I think I have something for you.” When Greg Lestrade entered the flat he saw Sherlock Holmes, who looked like something blew up in his face, and Dr. John Watson with tea stains all over his jumper. One of them tried to look indifferent but was secretly craving for a case. The other looked like the could get back into his bed straight away. “What kind of murder?”, Sherlock didn't even feel slightly guilty as he asked about a dead person, like others would ask their mail man after their Amazon packages. Lestrade sighed deeply, “Double murder, wife and husband dead, no sign of forced entry and the murderer took their time to paint smileys on the walls. With their blood.”

He answered and waited for one of them to say something. In the end, nobody said anything because Holmes was out of the door the moment he grabbed his coat from the mantelpiece. “This is at least a six, Giovanni!”, shouted an excited Detective, as he almost jumped down the stairs to get to his favourite place in the world: crime scenes. “I...am sorry, Greg.” “No, no. I'm used to his behaviour by now.”, Greg smiled in John's direction but still thought if it would be possible for him to shoot himself in his foot, so he could retire a little early. Like two or three decades early. He sighs again before John is ready to follow the world's only consulting Detective

***

John was totally and absolutely pissed. Not only did Sherlock start a fight with everyone at the crime scene, from the Police Inspectors to the witnesses, he also ran after the possible murderer. Not that he would bother to take a gun with him while sprinting after almost-certainly-murderers, or maybe wait for him or Lestrade, no. This was Sherlock Bloody Holmes, who doesn't wait for anyone.

So now John was walking through the London rain because he forgot his wallet this morning and didn't have money for a cab. At least he remembered to take his umbrella with him. It was currently ten o'clock in the evening and he didn't eat anything since that morning, so it is relatively save to say that this just wasn't one of John's best days.

When John finally arrived at 221B Baker Street he was wet, hungry and in dire need of something stronger than wine. While making a beeline to the little cupboard where he kept his Whiskies, he noticed that Sherlock still wasn't home.

This was in itself not particularly unusual, but it still created a whispering voice of worry in John's mind, his friend did chase a murderer after all. Just as he seriously thought about calling Lestrade a very wet Detective stumbled through the door and ruined most of their carpet.

“Bloody hell!”, John made two big strides towards Sherlock to get his coat off of him, which seemed more like a wet towel at that moment. “What in the world were you doing out there without an umbrella? At this time? You didn't even close your coat!” It was true, Sherlock's coat was completely unbuttoned and even though he held the front closed with both of his hands, the rain seeped through his shirt. “Couldn't”, Sherlock simply answered. Probably because his teeth were chattering so much from the cold. “What do you mean you couldn't?” John wasn't even really angry with him as he rubbed Sherlock's arms, trying to get at least some warmth into his shivering body.

“Couldn't.”, Sherlock whispered again but this time he opened his coat fully, so John could see why exactly he wasn't able to protect himself from the London weather. Under his coat, safely tucked in Sherlock's right side was a little Corgi half asleep, and perfectly protected from the rain.

John looked at the little creature, that was placed on their couch, so it could continue to sleep. The little thing was outright adorable. Its' brown and white fur was slightly dirty from lying on the street, but it looked nonetheless like an absolutely lovable little creature. “Did you find it outside?”, John asked and turned to Sherlock, who finally shed his wet coat and shirt while searching for a towel.

“Some idiot left him on the street. I already know a lot of people have a ridiculously low intellect, but this is just pathetic.” Sherlock tried to at least dry his hair, with pretty mediocre success and simply stopped after some seconds. “He would have frozen to death with this rain outside.” It wasn't very common for Sherlock Holmes to explain himself, so John just didn't ask any further. “What are you gonna do with him?” John was sure Sherlock already knew the name of the animal shelter where he wanted to bring the little guy, it seemed like Sherlock always thought things through from start to- “I want to keep him.”

That came unexpectedly. John looked into his friends' face to see if he was merely joking, but no, he looked like he just announced the name of the murderer at any crime scene. This day was getting better until the very end.

“Sherlock,” John started his sentence and tried to make his statement as clear as possible. It was a little like talking to a young child. “you cannot keep a dog. You can barely remember to feed yourself. The poor lad will starve one week after he lives here.” The beginning of a frown could be seen on Sherlock's face.

Good Lord. He didn't agree with him.

“I would remember to feed him, it's not that hard. He would have a place in my Mind Palace, so he wouldn't starve.” Sherlock sounded so sure of himself, it was almost cute. Then John remembered that they would have a dog in their flat which he, most likely, had to care for. It was definitely too late for this crap.

“Sherlock, you wouldn't only need to feed him. Dogs need walks in the park, and games, and love. What are you doing when we are on a case? You can't just leave him here and let Mrs. Hudson take care of him.” Just as Sherlock wanted to present all his arguments in the matter, Watson noticed how exhausting this whole day really was. So he stopped him with a “Tomorrow. We will talk about this tomorrow.” And slipped into his bedroom to get at least something resembling sleep

***

Why do his days always begin with loud noises? As John rolled over in his bed to face his closed door he thought about all the other possible flatmates he could have had. But no. It was Sherlock Holmes, who probably destroyed their kitchen at six o'clock in the morning. Again.

John rubbed a hand over his face as he decided that he couldn't go back to sleep after being woken from his dreams. He should probably go and see what exactly Sherlock had planned on this day, maybe he could even save one or two teacups from total destruction. After his mental preparation of what was to come, John finally got up from his bed and went on to the chemistry lab- kitchen. He went to the kitchen. And what he saw was...peculiar.

The noise, which he originally identified as another experiment gone wrong, was actually a slightly desperate Sherlock Holmes, who tried to get a little Corgi puppy under control. Said puppy was busy with running around in the living room and trying to knock everything off the shelves and table. Well, that was something.

“Sherlock are you...alright?", that was the best he came up with because seriously, he had never seen Sherlock fail one of his tasks. “He wanted...wants to play. I don't know how he has so much energy at this time.” Sherlock didn't look like he had much sleep last night, so the little guy probably had been awake for quite some hours.

John had to smile at this, who thought that the only thing needed to kill the boredom of the Detective, was a little puppy with slightly too much energy. “Okay, you know what? You're gonna...busy him for some more time and I will get some dog food. And milk, we can't always steal from Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock just nodded as he tried to prevent the little dog from killing the couch cushions, John could still see some bite marks.

***

Dog food, a collar, a leash, and some toys were what John eventually bought at the pet store, so he felt pretty prepared for the next one or two days. As he went up the stairs to his flat he could already hear Sherlock talking to someone, so they most likely had a new case. Great.

But when John walked into the living room, he had a slightly different picture in front of him. Sherlock was sitting in his usual chair, legs crossed and violin in his hands, he wasn't playing though. No, he tried to prevent The Puppy from playing fetch with his bow. At the same time, John could hear that he was explaining to the little creature the concept of...arsenic poisoning?

Well, maybe the dog was highly interested in one of Sherlock's old cases. John had his doubts though.

“Sherlock I...don't think that he dog cares much about...poisons, I mean no animal does so...”, John trailed off after he noticed that neither his best friend nor the cinnamon roll on the floor were really paying attention, they were pretty wrapped up in their little “half waging with the bow, so it's not really playing, but the dog is still excited” endeavour. It looked positively endearing.

“John, we should take the dog for a walk. He will probably need more exercise than running around in the little flat. Dogs, especially puppies of this race, need walks several times a day. And I think we have an extremely energized exemplar of this race.”, while he explained this the Corgi ran around John's armchair two times and was now begging _him_ to play with him. Oh, what a day. “Okay, fine. Good thing I bought a leash and a collar.”, John was already getting their new friend ready, while Sherlock got his trademark coat. At least it wasn't raining anymore.

***

The picture the Londoners were seeing at the park that day, was probably one of a kind. One of the most famous people in London was walking a tiny dog through the park, while his blogger was trailing behind him. If it is taken into consideration that Sherlock Homes is not a small man, the image comes to life as moderately ridiculous.

Holmes didn't even seem to notice that other people in the park were starting to stare as he jogged behind his little companion, to keep up with his enthusiasm.

John didn't want to admit it, but he did enjoy the morning walk in the park. It had a calming effect on him, perfect for going to the clinic later and having to deal with hysteric men with haemorrhoids, or little children with a fear of doctors. Nevertheless, he had to address the elephant in the room.

“Sherlock, listen to me. I know you've already made up your mind but...we really cannot keep a dog. He will be lonely and sad and...we aren't even at home most of the time.” “Then we will take him with us.” How could he think that everything and everyone was appropriate at a crime scene? The dog would most likely destroy evidence, or just run off because he would get scared by all the different people. Just as Watson was about to present his carefully constructed argument, a woman not even two hundred meters away from them started to scream. “My bag! Quick, he has my bag!”

Why wasn't there one day that went normal and without incidents? Any why was the mugger running in their direction?

At that moment John thanked whoever gave Sherlock those cat-like reflexes, because even before he comprehended what was about to happen, Sherlock put his leg almost elegantly in the way of the mugger and gave him a not-so-gentle kick. So the poor lad went flying to the ground before he got barked at by a caramel coloured tiny monster.

How was John the only one who wasn't helping? “Mam, I think this belongs to you.” Sherlock was handing the bag to the woman, who just witnessed a robbery gone wrong, where she was originally the victim. This must certainly be her lucky day.

“John, we should go back to the flat, I think this was enough exercise for today.” Sherlock was changing directions just after finishing his sentence, so John had no choice but to follow. “How did you react so fast?” He had long abandoned the idea that his flatmate wasn't really human, but he would still like some answers.

“Easy, after he had the woman's bag he had to choose a direction. He had to run away from the scene as fast as possible, so he would not run further into the park. On his left side were too many people who could have stopped him and on the right side was an hot-dog booth in his path, so he had to run in our direction.” Holmes finished as if it was incredibly boring to know a strangers next steps, but Watson was still impressed.

“It is amazing how you do that. Stop criminals with...just knowing what they will do.” Sherlock had the decency to look a tiny bit flustered every time the other complimented him on his achievements. “I didn't do it alone. He helped.” The Detective nodded towards the guy that was happily waggling in front of them, unfazed by the fact that he got almost run over by a handbag mugger. “Maybe we could train him. He could be useful on crime scenes. He could even find blood on suspects.”

This couldn't be real. Sherlock Holmes did not just suggest that they train a Corgi as they...what? Tracking dog? “Sherlock! This is a Corgi. Not a bloodhound or anything of that sort. He doesn't want to help to solve crimes, he wants to play and maybe get a belly rub in the afternoon.” John could feel a headache slowly making its' way to his forehead.

He rubbed over his face as the pair come to a halt almost outside the park. “John, you definitely don't give him enough credit. Plato may be only a puppy now, but in a little time with some training, he could be a great help for Scotland Yard.”

Nope. Nope, not happening. John had been so sure he would win this argument, just this time. “You...you named the Corgi...Plato.” This was it. The dog had a name, the dog had a collar, he stopped a robbery. He was part of the family.

“Fine. Fine, you win. But believe me, the moment you neglect that animal I will never make you tea again, and I will tell Mrs. Hudson that she must never bake her scones for you again.” John Watson was pretty sure his flatmate was secretly smiling at him, but oh well. There are worse things than having Sherlock Holmes being amused by you. He just hoped that Plato would not crap on their carpet.


End file.
